


Can We Fast Forward (Until You Go Down On Me)?

by Slashy Goodness (allmadhere)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmadhere/pseuds/Slashy%20Goodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't terribly long before Patrick came out again, smile fainter this time but still there. They went their separate ways and didn't even look at each other again. Pete could thank whoever for the little things.</p><p>They still didn't talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can We Fast Forward (Until You Go Down On Me)?

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic done for anon_lovefest. I told you, slowest writer ever. Anyways, I forget what exactly the prompt was but it's basically Patrick trying to improve his BJ skills and Pete getting jealous. It ended up more emo than I thought it would but whatevs. Title is from the Panic! at the Disco single, obviously. No beta.

The first time he noticed it happening, it was right after a show. Pete had beamed at him as they made their way off stage to make room for the next act. Patrick had smiled back, maybe a little shyly, and pushed at the brim of his hat. Patrick had, at Pete's request, been a little more... open and flirtatious on stage tonight. Pete had to watch him stand front and center, face contorting on some notes as sweat poured from him and plastered his hair to his face. Really, sweat should not be sexy. Ever. But Patrick wore it with his tight jeans and tees like the fucking highest end couture. Pete couldn't help when he plastered himself against Patrick's back, mouthing the words into the skin of his neck and smiling when Patrick shuddered against him. An unintentional vibrato snuck in but no one seemed to notice. Pete assumed that's what the shy smile was about, the tension that seemed to be constantly sparking between them.

He was chatting up some pixie of a scene girl, smiling with only his mouth and not his eyes, when he spotted Patrick looking nervously over his shoulder with that same shy smile from before. He followed Patrick's line of sight and quirked an eyebrow at where they landed. This guy, and Pete just knew it was him and no one else, was not Patrick's type at all. He was too tall, too sardonic, too much like he belonged in a ten-gallon at a salon more than the shirt baring just a hint of stomach at a show like this. Pete's eyes narrowed as first Patrick then his conquest disappeared down the hall that led to the bathrooms. They were barely visible slits by the time they came out again, both smiling lazily.

They didn't talk about it.

 

The second time was another show about a week later. Pete had an inkling of what to look for now. Patrick was fucking burning the little dive bar to the ground, making the crowd fall in love then breaking their hearts. He leaned into Pete's touch this time when Pete draped himself over his back and gave a little sigh into the lyrics as he sang. Pete closed his eyes as he whispered their words into the damp crook of Patrick's neck. He felt something tighten low in his stomach, somewhere in the vicinity of the bartskull, and he pulled back sharply. He went back to his part of the makeshift stage and didn't go back to Patrick's side for the rest of the set. He came close, sure, drifted almost into Patrick's personal bubble before catching himself and moving away. Andy shot him vaguely warning little knowing looks from behind his drum kit as he played. Pete had no idea how he managed to split his attention like that. The looks continued as they moved their equipment back into the van and headed into the bar to catch the headliner.

Patrick disappeared soon after that, meddling into the crowd of the pit. Pete didn't even try to keep an eye on him. He wouldn't have managed anyhow. He just happened to be glancing around for the bathroom when he saw Patrick with that smile leading some scene boy into the bathroom. Pete saw red.

"Sit down and be quiet," Andy muttered, tugging him back into the barstool he hadn't even realized he'd vacated. "What he does isn't your problem. Got it?" Pete huffed and slumped over his Coke that wasn't in the least bit alcoholic. If he strained really hard, he could almost taste a hint of rum. It wasn't terribly long before Patrick came out again, smile fainter this time but still there. They went their separate ways and didn't even look at each other again. Pete could thank whoever for the little things.

They still didn't talk about it.

 

After that, Pete tried to stop paying attention. Really, he did. He still noticed the nights when Patrick was so on fire that Pete was drawn to it but had to stay away or be burned. More than a few times, as he pressed his face into the sweat of Patrick's neck and mouthed the words into that spot just below his ear, it left him so achingly hard, it hurt. He quickly learned not to do it until at least halfway through their sets. Those were often the nights Pete came with a quiet sob into a wad of toilet paper in the bathroom, then locked himself away in the van with his headphones on full blast.

For a while, it sort of worked. Sure, it left Pete frustrated beyond belief but the frustration turned to new lyrics and slightly better playing. Andy was the only one who seemed to notice and shot him looks every once in a while. Joe seemed to be shrugging it off as his perpetual emo and improvement from practice. Patrick appeared blithely unaware.

Pete fucking hated them all.

 

They were nearly at the end of tour, almost back to Chicago, when he finally snapped. It was happening again but bigger than ever before. Patrick was burning brighter than a supernova, Joe was feeding off of it and thrashing, Andy was banging his drums like a signal that said 'don't do anything stupid', and Pete was throwing himself around to vent. Life wasn't in the least bit fair because he was still hard before they even reached the midpoint. He didn't do what he had been for weeks and bury his face in that overwhelming feeling of Patrick. All he got for it was three looks of concern of varying lengths.

Rather than continue with his self-flagellating routine and jerk off in the bathroom before retreating to the packed van, he took to the club's dance floor. If Patrick was going to play this game, Pete was going to show him who was a master. That, however, didn't seem to be in the cards because not a single one of the gaggle of scene kids looked in the least bit approachable. Pete sighed in frustration and headed for the bathroom alone yet again.

He slammed the door open, storming into a stall, and slamming that door shut with a flick to the lock. He pulled off a quick wad of paper and got to work. The faster he got off, the faster he'd be out of here. He was just starting to make it good for himself, adding a little twist of the wrist at the head and a squeeze at the base, when the bathroom door squeaked quietly on its hinges. An all too familiar giggle floated through the air and spoke to an unknown voice in hushed whispers. Pete cursed under his breath. Just his fucking luck.

The voices drew closer and tumbled into the stall next to him with a thud. He swore he could feel the metal under his hand heat up just a little because of them.

"I don't usually do this," the unknown voice rumbled out, stifling a moan at the end and there was a quick pop of released suction. Yeah, like fucking hell he didn't. Pete realized his hand was still slowly pumping at his cock. The pace quickened and his grip tightened when Patrick gave a little snort. "What? I don't," the voice assured with an audible smile Pete wanted to pound into oblivion. "Sucking off guys in club bathrooms is entirely new. Even if this particular guy is a rock star."

"'M definitely not a rock star," Patrick mumbled and fuck if Pete couldn't see the blush spreading across his face, down his neck, into his shirt. He leaned carefully against the wall of the stall, probably back to back with Patrick's conquest of the night. "Besides, it's going to be the other way around first, okay?" The only answer was a hissed intake of breath. Pete just kept himself from echoing it as he slowed down his hand's frantic pumping. He heard the quiet slip and catch of fabric that must have been Patrick getting to his knees on the grimy floor and his breathing hitched. The short zipper fly opening was loud, even with the mingled panting of three mouths and the bass-heavy din of the club through the door. The wall under the hand not on his cock burned like nothing else and Pete figured Patrick had a hand braced there as he leaned in.

He must not go straight for the kill because the guy took a shaky breath and nails scrabbled near his hip. "Fucking hell, your mouth," he marveled and Pete's hips jerked slightly as he pictures Patrick looking up at him through those lovely pale lashes, one hand on his thigh and the other by Pete's hand. Pete's other hand tangles in his strawberry locks as he licks a slow stripe upward, gently teasing at the head. Patrick smiles brightly up at him, giving one more playful swipe. Pete and the guy quietly hissed in tandem.

Patrick must have decided to get to work then because all Pete hears after that is a half-moaned "fuck" and nothing else intelligible mingled in the grunts and groans. Pete wanted to bang his head against the wall of the stall but his hand had decided to pick up speed, trying to match the pace of the mouth making those beautiful little slurping sounds. He just choked back a little sob that he wasn't on the receiving end.

Suddenly there was a little pop that made Pete slow his hand, not quite a complete stop but close. Patrick's voice was just a little raw when he spoke and it made Pete's stomach tighten. "I'm not going to swallow," Patrick warned, "it's not you, I just... can't." The guy mumbled something incoherent back and must have gestured with it because the slurping was back full force and Pete groaned as his hand resumed its pace. Pete snatched his hand away from the heat on the wall and bit down on it to stifle the moan as he came. He wasn't completely successful but he was sure no one heard him over the guy's orgasm anyway. He sank to the floor as mortification and anger took the place of the arousal that had been curling in his belly.

Patrick spat into the toilet and flushed. "Damn," the guy murmured, awe evident in his voice. Pete wondered if a punch to the throat wouldn't get rid of that little case of breathiness. "I can, you know, return the favor if you want. Can't promise it'll be half as good but--"

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine," Patrick mumbled in reply. He sounded like he did the one time Pete caught him halfway through jerking off in the back of the van. He hadn't gotten off but he was close. Pete wondered if he'd jerk off when the guy left.

"Alright," the guy said, obviously a little uncertain and Pete really wished he'd just leave already. "I hope your band comes through again. This aside, you guys were fucking amazing tonight." Pete assumes the guy quirks a smile before leaving, the doors closing quietly behind him. Now he just has to wait out Patrick.

Patrick took a deep shaky breath and let it out before taking another and another. Pete followed his lead and felt the ball of loathing unfurl. Then Patrick had to ruin it all by going through scales and making Pete's dick twitch eagerly. Pete shut his eyes hard and tried to mentally drown him out, trying to recite the pages of The Old Man and the Sea from memory. It only just works. Patrick then launched into a soft version of "Zombie" and he had to be all kinds of fucked up if even that in Patrick's liquid honey voice got him half-hard. Patrick was up and gone as he tried frantically to remember how college calculus had worked.

When he finally met his impatient band and makeshift crew at the van, his hood was drawn tight around his sullen face. Andy shot him a sympathetic look and silently offered to sit next to Patrick while Pete took shotgun on the drive to the motel. The two hours felt more like forty with nothing but dark silhouettes on black and his thoughts to occupy his time. He wasn't so lucky when rooms were picked however.

He ducked into the bathroom before Patrick had even dropped his bag on a bed and leaned heavily against the door, breathing hard as he sank to the floor. Lust, anger, and maybe something else clouded his mind, leaving him only with images of Patrick pinned beneath him with huge shining eyes. He wasn't quite sure what was making them shine, possibly tears and he was not going to be the fucking reason Patrick cried if he could help it. He tried to calm himself down, wondering offhandedly if the fact that he was hard again was a sign of possible psychosis.

Just when he was beginning to think he might be able to make it through the night with nothing more than an inconvenient hard-on come morning, there was a soft knock at the door. Pete closed his eyes and prayed that Patrick would simply go away if he didn't answer. Apparently, his luck was beyond shitty.

"Pete?" Patrick's voice floated through the cheap wood of the bathroom door. "Pete, what's wrong?" He could hear the mocking concern in his voice, or maybe it was all in his head. His dick gave a twitch that made him jerk and bang his head against the door. Patrick must have taken it the wrong way because Pete felt that same radiating heat from before near his shoulder. He twitched away and bit his lip to stifle his moan.

"Fuck off," he mumbled, "I really don't want to talk to you right now." Pete curled into himself, hugging his knees and whimpering slightly. He sort of hated that Patrick could do this to him, could turn him into this confused wreck of a human being and that was turning into a boiling sort of anger as the minutes ticked by.

"Pete, I'm your best friend, okay? You can tell me anything, really." Patrick slid down on the other side of the door and Pete wanted to punch him through it, make him hurt and bleed. The fact that this made him so hard it physically hurt didn't help. They sat that way for long minutes, silent and awkward, before Patrick finally moved away and took his heat with him. Fucking Patrick with his burning heat and that mouth of his blowing every guy he could find in dingy bar bathrooms and back alleys. No one seemed to notice but him and it was getting on his fucking nerves.

He took a shower to try and stay his anger but when he walked out the bathroom again in nothing but his low-slung jeans, he'd built up a full head of steam and was perfectly willing to unleash it on the first available victim. He shot a glare at Patrick as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his socked feet. Pete just bundled himself into his own bed, curling in on himself and pretending to sleep. Patrick took his own shower before turning out the lights and retreating into bed.

Pete laid there, staring into the dark for hours as he listened to Patrick's light snoring. As the red lights of the clock ticked 2:33am, he clamped a pillow over his ears. He could still hear Patrick sleeping and, beneath it, he could hear Patrick blow the guy from earlier. Pete's teeth ground as he tried to block it out but the sound only seemed to get louder. At 2:36am, he couldn't take it any more and stormed across the room to pin Patrick to the bed.

"You," he snarled as Patrick struggled awake beneath. "I fucking hate you. How can you-- Why do you-- I fucking hate you so much." Pete pressed him harder into the cheap motel mattress. "Why the fuck are you so goddamned stupid, Patrick Martin Stumph?"

"Wha?" Patrick mumbled as he struggled to wakefulness, pulling weakly at his pinioned arms. "Pete, what are you doing? Why are you--"

"I said shut up," he growled. Patrick visibly shivered beneath him. "Why do you keep doing it, Patrick?" He took a deep breath, a sob shaking him. "Why the fuck do you keep doing it?!"

"I..." Patrick's voice was shaky, almost like he was going to cry. Pete thanked every power he could think of that he couldn't see his eyes in the dark. "It's complicated, Pete. I just--"

"Just fucking answer me, Patrick." He leaned in close, his nose almost brushing Patrick's. "Why do you let them get so close to you, let them go where you won't let me?"

"Pete," he whispered shakily before arching up and capturing Pete's lips in a kiss. Pete didn't move, didn't breath as Patrick's tongue worked at the crease of his lips. "Please," he whispered, "god, Pete, please."

"Please what?" Pete snapped. "What the fuck is it you want from me, Patrick? Do you want me to be another of your fucking conquests? Well fuck that. I'm going to fucking teach you a lesson, Stumph." Patrick shivered again.

There was no preamble, no kisses and loving caresses before he got to work. Pete sank down Patrick's body, taking his pajama pants and boxers as he went. Above him, Patrick made a keening moan that traveled straight to Pete's already straining cock. He licked at Patrick's entrance, just grazing it and drawing a groan. He could sense Patrick's hands inching down his body and Pete stopped with a low growl. Patrick twitched.

"No," he rumbled, trailing back up Patrick body and snagging his hands along the way. He continued until Patrick's arms were just starting to strain and pinned them against the mattress. "Those stay there until I tell you to move them, got it?" Patrick nodded meekly. "Good." With that, Pete got back to business and pressed his tongue flat against Patrick again, licking up to the back of his balls and curling his tongue to tickle them slightly. The answering sharp intake of breath made him grin and dive straight for the prize.

"Oh, fuck, Pete," Patrick gasped out. Pete ignored his sobbing, pleading cries for more, God, more please and continued his ministrations. He laved at Patrick, just barely penetrating him with his tongue, and allowed Patrick's glorious cadence to wash over him. He also couldn't believe that sex with Patrick was turning him into a living romance novel.

"Don't move," he said, coming up and and glaring down at Patrick sternly. Patrick's arms tremble above his head as if held in actual restraints. Pete smirked before clambering off the bed to grab the lube and a condom from the bottom of his bag. He slid his way back between Patrick's thighs. "Normally, I'm a fan of going slow and teasing to the brink but fuck that." Patrick shivered and panted a little harder. "When I said I was fucking you into the mattress, I was serious but I'm not going to hurt you. Unlike those other guys, I actually care." Patrick bit at his lower lip, eyes shining.

Patrick squirmed as the first lube-slicked finger slid inside, face contorted in slight discomfort. Pete nuzzled at his hip and the curve of his soft belly, his thoughts a cacophony of mineminemineallmine as he moved quickly to two and three fingers with Patrick's symphony of moans and begging as the score to guide him. He tried to make it hard and sweet somehow, clear in his heavy-handed thrusts that he was claiming Patrick but, god, he'd never hurt him. He wasn't just taking advantage like all those other guys. He was different. He had to be.

"Fuck, Pete, stop," Patrick broke off with a scale-sliding thing that defied description and made Pete's entire body tense in anticipation of that first thrust in. Pete crooked his fingers just right and Patrick hit a sobbing high note. "Pete, I'm ready, okay? Fuck, please pleasepleasefuckmeplease." Pete didn't respond vocally just ripped open the condom and slipped it on with a groan, his fist pumping of its own accord.

"It's not going to be comfortable this way," Pete murmured as he lined himself up, "but god, do I want to see you. I want to see the exact second you shake apart and I want you to be able to see that I was the one who did it to you." Patrick just nodded in hasty agreement, shining green-blue-brown eyes wide. "I love you, 'Trick." He leaned over and sank in slowly, kissing Patrick and devouring the delicious a cappella the whole way.

That first thrust was slow and thoughtful, surrounding Pete in tight heat that made him want to let it rip, slam into the body beneath him, and come as fast as possible. The only thing holding him back was that the body beneath him was the handsome package of one Patrick Stump. He couldn't bring himself to purposely just hurt Patrick, who crescendoed into a sparkling high note as Pete bottomed out inside of him.

Pete was slow to set the pace, trying for the right angle one that would make--. Patrick arched off the bed, back curved like a violin bow. Pete smirked, took a solid hold of Patrick's hips, and started setting a blistering pace. His smooth long strokes turned short and staccato. Patrick's arms were still twitching where Pete had place them, fingers itching to touch his cock.

"You can touch yourself if you want," Pete mumbled huskily, taking Patrick's lips in a needy kiss. "I want to see you come now." Patrick keened again, barely getting a lightning quick right hand on himself, rougher than Pete would have thought, before he was spurting between them. Pete clenched his jaw and continued the thrust through the press of Patrick's orgasm, determinedly taking in the sight of his lips formed around loud moan, the flush of his pale skin, the darkness of his lidded eyes, his hand still moving lazily over his spent cock. Pete went tumbling over the edge at that with a guttural cry.

He stayed slumped over Patrick for a long moment, both of them riding the post-coital high and not wanting to move. Pete finally pulled out and rolled off out of courtesy, tying of the condom and throwing it in the direction of the trashcan, before he curled around Patrick with a protective arm around his waist.

"Thanks, Pete," Patrick whispered as he leaned into Pete warm body. "I thought I was going to be so bad at this. Really." He rolled over and snuggled into Pete. Pete just rolled his eyes and held him close, listening. "I did that whole... thing because I wanted the first time with you to be perfect. I didn't just want to be some inexperienced kid, you know?"

"God, Lunchbox," Pete murmured rubbing his nose into the nape of Patrick's neck, "how could you be so stupid? I don't care about that shit. I care about you."

"Hmph, says the guys with how many exes of both genders?" Patrick retorted without venom. "I just couldn't compete with that."

Pete hummed thoughtfully. He couldn't deny that Patrick's logic did make some naive sort of sense. "But there's a good reason they're all exes, 'Trick. They didn't have it. They weren't you." They both smiled and settled into the sleep they'd been fighting off.

 

The next morning, they met everyone else at the van to a chorus of giggles. Pete frowned and Patrick scowled menacingly enough to keep them mostly quiet on the way to a buffet for breakfast. Pete just cocks an eyebrow at the whispers hidden behind hands but Patrick looks murderous. He and Patrick cornered Andy as the drummer sorted through the salad bar for some edible fruits.

"Hurley, why is everyone acting like a bunch of teenage girls?" Pete asked bluntly as he bit into a piece of bacon from his plate. "I mean, it's not I'm trying to be nosy or anything but--."

"Next time you decide to fuck Patrick that hard," Andy said very carefully, "you might want to consider a gag or something. He was pretty loud. I didn't mind. At least he was in tune and kept to your rhythm. I'm sort of impressed. The other guys are glad you finally went through with it. You've been pussy-footing around each other forever and it fucking sucked. Joe's happy he won the bet." Patrick blush and stared down hard at his scrambled eggs and sausage. Pete just grinned and kissed Patrick's cheek as they walked back to their table of snickering men.

"Pete," Patrick mumbled, "we're never fucking on tour again." Pete just smirked deviously. He was just going to have to be creative about it, obviously.


End file.
